by

Terry Wright

            Justice disliked the smell of alcohol and disinfected air. But his bullet-riddled heart compelled him to come here, to visit his daughter, to hear the machines thumping and hissing, the medical miracles that kept her teetering on the precarious edge of life.

Dirt swirling from his long coat, he removed his dusty cowboy hat and sat in a chair at her bedside. The midnight hour had long passed. In silence, he watched her lying on the bed, hoses, tubes and wires attached to every imaginable part of her body. Guilt welled up inside him. If only there could have been another way to save her.

Leaning forward, Justice took in the paleness of Christy’s skin, her jet black hair once long and flowing, now cropped short, and her lips, parched and void of color. He remembered her laughter, her songbird voice, and the way sunlight played in her hair.

At twenty years old, she had never known her mother or the horror of death on the delivery table. Nanny Jean had seen to the child’s every need until a truck driver out of Irvine took away the only mother Christy had ever known.

Aunt Clara took Christy in after that, gave her a place to call home. Because his duties as homicide detective for the Texas Rangers kept him on the move, he had no other choice but to send her to boarding schools and summer camps. He tried to be with her on special occasions though, when he could. But sitting in this chair tonight, the sour truth churned in his belly like a bad meal. Even as a part-time father, he had failed her miserably. And he remembered how he came to realize that.  

Blowing out five candles on her birthday cake, Christy chirped, “I love you, Daddy.” She wore a blue flower-print dress, bobby socks, and shiny black shoes with big buckles.

Justin kissed her glowing cheek and handed her a present wrapped with a red bow. “This is for my favorite girl.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she exclaimed after ripping away the wrapping. “Barbie.” She hugged the doll close to her heart. “Was my mommy this beautiful?”

“Yes.”

Justice’s bones creaked as he leaned back in his chair. Carrousel music drifted in his skull. Decker’s county fair smelled like the stockyards. Christy wore her favorite cowboy boots, blue jeans and a flannel shirt. “I want to ride a pony. Please, Dad.”

The sign on the corral gate read: You must be 9 to ride. $2.

            Fishing bills from his wallet, Justin smiled. “Be careful.”

            “I told her to clean her room,” Aunt Clara reported, her hands on her hips. “She snuck out the window instead.”

            “Where have you been, young lady?”

            Christy glared at her father. “None of your business.”

            “Get in there and wash that stuff off your face.” He pointed to the bathroom.

            “Mother would’ve let me wear makeup.”

            “Do it!”

            “I’m thirteen, Dad. Get used to it.”

            “You look like a tramp.”

            “I hate you!”

            She stormed out and Justin didn’t know what to say. His daughter was slipping away and he felt helpless to do anything about it. Grounding her would make her rebel even more. He hoped she’d grow out of this phase, get through the trials of puberty and come to realize he was only trying to help her.

 Wearing a plaid skirt, white blouse and saddle shoes, Christy threw her books down. “I don’t want to go to school!” She stomped out of the kitchen.

“Get back here, young lady!”

“You’re not my boss!”

Justin followed her to the living room. “I’m your father.”

“I wouldn’t be braggin’ about that, Dad.” She plopped on the couch.

He sat next to her. “What’s the problem?”

“What do you care?”

“I have a job, responsibilities. You’ll understand someday.”

She whimpered. “I hate these clothes.”

“If you want a driver’s license, you’ll have to go to school.”  

New shirt in hand, Justin approached the cashier.

“That’ll be twenty four dollars and twenty cents.”

In shock, Justin stared into his wallet emptied of cash. He swore he had two twenties when he left the bank yesterday. During the night, he’d put his wallet on the dresser, as usual. Anger flared and his heart broke.

“I didn’t take your money, Dad.” Christy scowled at him through heavy mascara, her lipstick-laden red lips curled. “You must’ve lost it.”

He saw a rose tattooed over her left breast. She’d pierced her ears from top to bottom. “What have you done to yourself?”

She stuck out her tongue, exposing a silver stud.

“If your mother could see you now.”

“My mother is dead. I killed her, remember?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Billy appeared at the door, a scraggly growth of hair on his chin, some kind of ring through his eyebrow and his neck tattooed in barbed wire. “Crystal—let’s go.”

“Crystal?”

“It’s my new name, Dad.”

“You don’t approve?” Billy asked, standing tall, chest puffed out, hairy chin up.

Justin turned to his daughter. “You’re not going anywhere with this punk.”

“He loves me.” She rubbed her nose and sniffled.

“Are you using cocaine?”

“It’s my life. I’m eighteen.”

“But that’s no reason...”

She left with Billy and tears stung Justin’s eyes.

            “There’s been a shooting on Decker Boulevard,” Captain Holland said, handing Justin the call sheet. “Get down there right away.”

Justin threw on his long coat, cowboy hat and grabbed his Winchester from the gun rack. “A drive by?”

“Someone said it was Billy Denton and his gang.”

“I knew that punk would go too far one day.”

“Justice,” Holland said, his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Your daughter was with him.”

“Must be a mistake.”

Holland shook his head. “She’s been hanging out with that thug for the past two years. Drug enforcement’s nearly nailed them twice. And she’s no stranger to Vice.”

“I did everything I could for her.”

“You haven’t done enough, Justice.” Holland held open the door. “This time you’ll have to fight for her life.”

Racing to the scene in his squad car, Justin’s heart filled with dread. If witnesses saw Christy with Billy during the drive by, she’d be guilty of murder, too. He never thought his own daughter would become the focus of one of his murder investigations. If only she had listened to him, about Billy, about everything. Justin swallowed. If only he’d been tougher on her, used a firmer hand, enforced his rules instead of feeling sorry for her for the loss of her mother. Maybe if he’d spent more time with her, none of this would have happened. Gripping the steering wheel, angrier with himself than anything else, Justin swerved through traffic toward the scene of the crime, siren wailing.

Police cruisers blocked traffic on Decker’s main drag. A uniformed officer led Justin to a bloody corpse on the sidewalk. “Who is he?” Justin asked the lieutenant in charge.

“A hoodlum from the 12^th Street Gang.”

“And Billy?”

“SWAT has him cornered in the abandoned warehouse on South Street. It’s a gun battle down there, Justice. His whole gang is with him.”

“Jesus! And my daughter?”

The lieutenant nodded.

Alarm pumping through his veins, Justin dashed for his squad car and sped toward the warehouse, tires squealing and Holland’s words rattling around in his brain. The time had come to fight to get his daughter back.

The scene at the warehouse looked like a war zone. Firearm reports riddled the night. Spotlights lit up the old wooden building, its peeling paint, dilapidated roof, and busted glass windows where flashes blazed from the gangs’ weapons. Manning a bullhorn, the negotiator ordered, “Cease fire!”

Bullets ricocheted off police cars.

“Hold your fire, men! Billy! Billy—let’s talk.”

Gradually, the firing ended. Billy’s face appeared in a jagged window frame. “Go to hell!”

Justin rushed to the negotiator. “My daughter’s in there.”

Through the bullhorn, “Billy!” the negotiator boomed. “Justice Graves’ daughter, Christy—send her out.”

“She stays!” Billy shouted. He pulled her to the window, revealing wide-open eyes ringed in white, her mouth gagged, his gun pointed at her head. “Back off or she dies.”

“No!” Justin stepped into the light where Billy could see him. “Take me instead.” He dropped his rifle in the dirt and raised his hands.

“I’m not letting her go!” Billy yelled.

“I just want to talk to her.”

“Talk from there.” Billy pulled the gag from Christy’s mouth.

“No, Dad. Don’t! He’ll kill you!”

“Christy—I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she wailed like a child. “I should’ve listened. I love you.”

Billy backhanded her and she fell down. “Come and get her, Justice!”

“Don’t do it,” the negotiator said. “We can’t cover you in there.”

Justin spit. “I don’t need any help with that punk.”

“No…”

In a heartbeat, Justin ran toward the warehouse. Nobody fired a shot. He made it to the busted doorway and ducked inside.

Firearms clicked. “Hold it!” Several gang members surrounded him.

Breathing hard, Justin refused to show his fear. “Where is she?”

“All in good time.” Billy stepped out from behind a stack of pallets, gun in hand, the glow of police spotlights shining off his earrings.

“Let me take her out of here, Billy.”

“Do I look like a fool?”

“If you love her...”

Billy laughed. “She’s a whore!”

Justin’s guts tightened. “Don’t you ever…”

“Dad!” Christy stumbled out of the shadows. 

            Grabbing her arm, Billy pulled her to him, his thick tongue licking her ear. “Tell him, baby,” he hissed. “Tell him you’re my whore.”

“My dad was right about you!”

“Your daddy is dead…just like your mommy.”

“No!” She pushed Billy away and staggered toward her father who lurched forward and caught her in his arms.

Gunfire rang out all around.

Blood splattered.

Burning pain sliced through Justin’s chest as he hit the floor with his daughter. His next breath wouldn’t come. As he clutched her close to his bleeding heart, he felt her body jerking. 

Christy! NO!

In darkness and silence, he held her, his last thoughts vowing never to let her go again.

As if in a dream, Justin tumbled through darkness, a hollow place in time that seemed to go on forever. Rolling and spinning, he held on to Christy, fighting a force that tried to rip her from his arms.

“W-what’s happening?” Christy stammered.

“We died together, at the same time.”

“Are we going to see my mom?”

“I don’t know where we’re going.”

Suddenly, Christy tried to push herself free of his arms. “Oh no! Dad, let go!”

“Never!”

“You can’t go with me. I’m going to hell.”

“You haven’t been that bad.”

“But I have,” she screeched. “I’m sorry. Let go. Save yourself.”

“ I go where you go.” But Justin feared he couldn’t do that, the force prying them apart becoming more than he could bear. Ahead, he saw two lights, one bright like sunshine, the other glowing red like furnace coals.

Spinning together dizzily, “I’m afraid, Daddy,” she whimpered in a childish voice that came to him without her speaking the words.

“Just hang on!” he thought to her.

“I love you.”

With all his strength, Justin clung to his daughter as they spiraled past the bright light. His hands became lucid, his arms, his coat, and his entire body felt weightless—without form or substance. Christy’s features, aglow in a red hue, wavered in heat waves, her long black hair flowing like lava. He no longer inhaled nor felt the pulse of life inside him.

Intensifying, the red glow seemed to have a will of its own, pulling them into a fiery pit where flames licked and swirled around them. Whooshing gases leaped from rock crevices and ignited. Plumes of smoke billowed, the nauseous air gripping his soul in despair, the heat becoming more intense, a kind of thirst burning in his throat like none he’d ever known.

Bellowing sounds of laughter thundered in his head. Words came to him from nowhere. “JUSTICE.  YOU FOOL!  YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.”

“Let her go! She doesn’t belong here, either.”

“YOU CANNOT HAVE HER!  SHE’S MINE.”

“But she’ll never see her mother.”

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I CARE?” Fire erupted from all around. Hissing and spitting gasses fed the inferno. “LET HER GO AND BE GONE!”

Justin, floating in fire, held his daughter’s soul tighter. “You know her life has been a living hell.”

“SHE SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO HER FATHER.”

“But it’s not her fault. I’m to blame…for not spending enough time with her. Take me instead. Let her live. She deserves a second chance.”

“SHE DESERVES NOTHING!  HER SOUL IS MINE!”

“Her soul is worth a hundred souls.”

“ONLY A FATHER WOULD SAY THAT.”

Thinking of Billy, Justin said, “But there are criminals running loose on the earth more worthy of this fate than her. Let her go and I will round them up for you. Catching killers and crooks is what I do best.”

With a gust of hot wind, the fire parted, revealing an angry red face with canted eyes the depth and color of crude oil. Glaring through putrid smoke, the devil tilted his head, displaying razor sharp horns that shined like crimson agate. Brows furrowed, he rasped. “JUSTICE!  YOU DARE TO MAKE A DEAL WITH ME!”

“A hundred treacherous souls for one mixed up young girl’s. Sounds like a fair trade.”

“THEY WILL COME TO ME IN TIME.”

Justin set his jaw. “I thought patience was a virtue.”

“I HAVE NO VIRTUES!” Roaring flames seared the air. Rocks trembled and  thunder rumbled.

“Sounds like a virtue to me.”

The devil growled. “YOU MOCK ME, JUSTICE.  WELL, WE SHALL SEE.  ONE HUNDRED FOR ONE.  SO BE IT.” He put his eyes on Justin’s faceless soul. “YOU SHALL WALK THE LINE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH, NEVER CROSSING OVER UNTIL YOU HAVE FULFILLED YOUR PART OF THE DEAL.”

“Leave it to me.”

“IT'S NOT THAT EASY.  THERE’S A CATCH.  YOU CANNOT KILL MY SERVANTS YOURSELF OR YOU’LL BECOME JUST LIKE THEM AND ALSO WORTHY OF MY REALM.  THEY MUST COME TO ME BY THEIR OWN DEEDS.”

“And they shall.”

“FAIL AND YOUR DAUGHTER IS MINE.”

“I will not fail her this time. Now let her go.”

Laughter boomed.

“Clear!”

The defibrillator discharged like a shotgun blast.

“I’ve got a pulse…but it’s weak,” the paramedic reported. “Transport her right away.”

Captain Holland shook his head and pulled a sheet over Justin’s face. “Justice was the best damn homicide detective the Texas Rangers ever had.”

“He was a piss-poor excuse for a father!” Billy shouted, still struggling, handcuffed and subdued by two officers.

“You weren’t much of a boyfriend, either.”

“She deserved what she got.”

“Justice gave his life for his daughter, thanks to you and your gang.”

“Did you have to kill them all?”

“I spared your ass, didn’t I?”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“You’ll get the needle for this and I’ll be there to see you pay.”

Billy spit. “Your jail won’t hold me for long.”

Holland shoved the punk into the squad car as an ambulance sped away with Christy on board. “Poor girl.” 

            “How are you this evening, Doctor?” came a woman’s voice.

“Busy.”

Justice jerked upright in his chair, the sounds of life-support machines invading his thoughts of the past.

A nurse handed the doctor a clipboard, which he inspected through reading spectacles. “I wish I knew how long this coma’s going to last.”

“She’s strong,” the nurse said, stroking Christy’s hair.

Rising from his chair, Justice donned his cowboy hat and touched his daughter’s clammy hand. “I love you.”

The doctor marked the chart, No Change.

With a gust of wind, the ghoul was gone.

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The Wedding Ring

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